


Free Response Question: "What am I doing here?"

by HoneyBeeez



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: College AU, M/M, Negative Thoughts, Slow Burn, a relationship will bloom eventually i promise, also mention of skipping meals?? dont know if thats triggering or not, also they go to a really good college and lance doesnt know how he got in, hes just really bitter but he gets over it, i guess????? okay thats it, if i actually get to writing more of this, lance is stressed and he takes it out on keith, little does he know hes a genius, supportive college roommates with differences
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:57:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9602843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyBeeez/pseuds/HoneyBeeez
Summary: Lance can't find the silver lining and just wants to run. Keith just wants to understand.In which these dorks are college roommates.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so maybe I havent finished watchign season 2, but i HAVE seen enough spoilers to know that lance is me. SO. of course this happens.  
> (and so maybe i dont want to do hw either, sue me)

It’s days like this when all Lance wants to do is be alone.

It’s cloudy and cold, he’s away from his family, he doesn’t understand his homework, and he’s feeling just as gray as the view from his window.

He loves science, loves math, loves the rain, but not when his professors expect him to know how to solve a problem they haven’t even covered and the textbook doesn’t mention, or when they don’t explain a concept right, or when the weather's perfect for rain, all glum and expectant, but _it doesn’t fall to the ground just yet_. After his eighth try on solving a problem and the program flashing his incompetence, he stands up, throws his pencil at the wall, and yells, “I HATE THIS SHIT!”

It’s only then, of course, that the door unlocks and lets in Lance’s roommate, Keith. He’s always perfect, always put together, always fit and diligent and _talented_. He’s the last person Lance wants to be around right now, so, without thinking, he starts gathering his stuff.

“What was that all about?” Keith asks, his voice a kind of strained, conversational tone.

“Nothing,” Lance spits, hastily wiping the corners of his eyes with the backs of his hands. (He hates that he cries when he’s angry, hates that he can’t stop being angry because _it’s all his fault in the first place_.)

“Didn’t sound like nothing to me,” Keith replies, and then there’s a frown now. Lance knows it even without having to turn around. It’s there almost every time they talk, Lance knows the way it warps Keith’s voice like he knows his mother’s recipe for _chile verde_. It sounds different every time, because the frown stands for different feelings every time, but Lance can’t place this one. It only makes him more desperate to leave.

“Yeah, well, it _was_. And even if it was something, I wouldn’t have told you anyways.” Lance shoves his laptop in his backpack, along with its charger, and starts gathering his scattered class materials that found itself all over his side of the room.

“Where are you going?” Keith questions.

“Full of questions today, aren’t you?”

“I just want to know what’s going on.”

“Like you care.”

“I do, actually, believe it or not.”

The words sink in as Lance’s hand hovers around the final unzipped pocket of his backpack. He hardly see how Keith can say that when all they’ve ever done is squabble about stupid things, when the most Keith knows about him and where he comes from is there in the pictures tacked up above Lance’s bed. He can’t see why someone like him would care about anything Lance was thinking or feeling or saying… and yet, here he is, making everything complicated.

“I don’t belong here,” Lance says, hardening his resolve, before zipping his backpack up and slinging it over his shoulders. He makes sure his phone, his keys, and his ID are in his pocket before starting to head to the door.

“What’re you talk about? This is your room too-” Keith starts to protest before Lance throws open the door. “Where’re you going-?”

“ _I don’t belong here_ ,” Lance says between his teeth, hoping he gets it the second time, before stalling out and slamming the door shut.

* * *

 

Lance trudges back into the dorm hours later, unable to feel his fingers or nose from the freezing walk back from the library. Its nearly one in the morning, and he hasn’t eaten since lunch. He hopes his stomach growling doesn’t wake everyone up as he walks through the hallways. He guesses he deserves it, blowing up at Keith, running away from the dorm, not telling anyone where he went off to.

And then he feels just plain stupid because he realizes that he just did all that for attention. _Attention_. His friends and Keith blew up his phone, messaging him with worry, and all he did was ignore them. He _wanted_ attention, _wanted_ sympathy, and he got it. He manipulated everyone and now he felt like shit. He guessed skipping meals tomorrow would be sufficient enough to atone for his behavior.

He tries to be as quiet as he can when he gets back to his room. Keith sleeps early, always has, even when he has stuff to get done. Lance always sort of admires the way he gets sleep _and_ gets his work done at the same time, but it always just simmers down to unbridled jealousy after a while. But when he opens the door, he sees that the light is on and that Keith is sitting on his bed. He hops off it the moment Lance peeks through the door.

“You’re back.

“You’re up.”

They speak at the same time, identical twinges of surprise harmonizing in the air between them. Lance almost wants to laugh, but instead he creeps onto the room a bit more and shuts the door behind him.

“Look, I didn’t mean to snap at you, so-”

“Wait,” Keith says, turning away and heading to his desk. When he turns around, he has a small bowl in his hands, the same kind the dining hall has. Lance opens his mouth to ask, but Keith beats him to the punch. “Hunk stopped by and asked about you,” Lance internally groans, “and he told me to make sure you ate something. And I don’t know what was up, but I don’t blame you for it, so.” He ends his speech with an awkward sort of tapering off, and shoves the bowl into Lance’s unsuspecting hands. When he looks down, he gasps, because the bowl is filled with mini churros. “I heard you ranting about them one time, and they had them for dinner, so I grabbed you some,” Keith explains hurriedly.

“Thanks Keith…” Lance said, a small smile quirking his lips upwards. He sets down his backpack and goes to sit by his desk, keeping his eyes on the churros all the while and finally picking up one when he’s settled.

“You definitely belong here,” Keith says just as he’s taking a bite. “You got in for a reason, and nothing’s changing that.” With that, he hops into his bed (the beds were lofted up at hip-height, so he literally did have to _hop_ ) and fell asleep.

Lance sat in silence as he crunched on his mini churros. When he was done, he set an alarm on his phone for the morning, changed, turned off the light, and fell asleep wondering what the hell was up with Keith.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didnt edit this but hopefully its alright. sorry guys

“Lance? Lance! Wake up!”

When Lance finally opens his eyes, he’s both relieved and terrified at the same time. Relieved because _it was just a dream_ and terrified because _Keith was right in his face_. He flinches away from him, smacking the back of his head into the wall, and hisses in pain as he slowly props himself up on an elbow.

“ _Chingada_ … Keith, what was that for?” Lance whines, cradling the back of his head and glaring at his roommate offendedly.

“You were having a nightmare again,” he says offhandedly, moving back to his desk and plopping back into his chair. There’s papers strewn about almost everywhere, and it’s almost impressive given how early it is.

“Again?” Lance notes, sitting up all the way and missing the warmth of being wrapped safely in his blankets.

“You have them a lot,” Keith states, not even looking away from his work. Lance squints at him then, because there are several things that _just don’t make any sense_. The first being that Keith obviously knows when he’s having a nightmare, the second being that Keith cared enough to wake him up from one this time, and the third being _Keith caring_.

“Oh,” is all Lance can think to say. He checks his phone, wondering if he should text Hunk, or maybe even Pidge, about all this, but it’s _five in the morning_. Lance sighs heavily, knowing he wasn’t going to get much more sleep, before slipping out of his bed and trudging to the bathroom.

When he comes back, Keith is looking at him from the top of a novel he’s reading, and when they awkwardly meet eyes, Lance’s flick away first.

“Didn’t think you’d stay up,” Keith says after a second, almost thoughtful, returning to his book.

“Didn’t think you’d be up at the ass-crack of dawn to read Sci-Fi,” Lance retorts, sitting at his desk and pulling out one of his readings he needed to get done.

“I need it for a class,” Keith justifies after a beat, and that pulls Lance up short.

“You’re taking a class about science fiction novels from the early 2000’s?”

“How do you know so much about this book?” Keith shoots quickly, sitting up and giving him a nasty glare before settling back and sighing. “And no, it’s about how visions of the future affect innovation.”

“Wanna be some cool up-and-coming inventor, huh?”

“An engineer, but I guess so,” Keith says. “You want to go into Astrophysics, right?” he tacks on after, and it pulls Lance up short.

“How did you know that?”

“Hunk’s in my class,” Keith shakes his novel in the air, “and he talks about you a lot, you know. It’s almost like he’s in love.”

“We’ve been pen pals since this summer,” Lance says fondly, smiling to himself before the expression wiped itself off his face. “But I’m going to have to tell him to stop talking about me. That’s just creepy.”

“It’s not, really, but okay,” Keith says, shrugging, before shoving his nose back in that book. Lance says, taking that as _conversation over_ before focusing back onto his own readings.

Hours pass in some semblance of silence, but not completely because of Lance’s habit of humming along to the multitude of songs that circle around his head. He almost turns around to tell Keith to shut him up at any time if he annoys him, but he short-circuits when he hears Keith faintly humming along. It’s not what he’s expecting, and he has to catch his gasp of surprise when he realizes.

He doesn’t get more reading done after that, and he finds himself more intent on listening to Keith hum the song that was stuck in his head.

* * *

 

Lance sinks lower into the bean bag and lets out a groan as Hunk rolls his eyes at him.

“I really don’t see the issue, Lance,” Hunk says, throwing one of the many pillows that decorate his bed at him.

“The problem is that you keep talking about me and he knows things that I don’t know he knows!” Lance says with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest.

“He’s your _roommate_ , man. Don’t you think you guys should get to know each other a little better?” Hunk asks, barely looking at him over the papers he’s scanning through as he says it. “I feel like I know more about Keith than you do, and I barely know him at all.”

“Well, I don’t need to know him, and that’s that.”

“Cruel, man.”

“Whatever. It’s not like…” Lance stops, the words “ _I have a reason to get to know him_ ” bringing him up short. Because he does. He was oddly supportive and caring that one time and _actually got him churros_ and it was a blessing but also a curse because now he’s actually seeing how nice Keith is and wow. _Wow_. “I mean… c’mon, what’ll happen will happen. But I’m not pushing anything,” Lance says instead, hoping he doesn’t sound too odd.

“As long as you don’t come to me crying about him tomorrow, then I’m okay with that,” Hunk says. “And I guess I can cut down talking about you around him.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

* * *

 

An earbud is yanked forcefully from his ear, making him yelp in surprise, jump away from the movement, and cup his ear all at the same time. When he turns around, he sees Keith with a tiny scowl on his face.

“Dude, what the-?”

“Are you sure you don’t need help or something?” Keith demands, cutting him off.

“What-?”

“I’ve been in here for five minutes, and all you were doing was staring at the screen, listening to music so loud you didn’t even notice I walked in, and muttering, ‘I can’t do this,’ under your breath.” Keith’s eyebrows are knit together in a way that _isn’t_ angry, and it makes Lance nervous.

Wait, was he really mumbling that stuff out loud?

“I’m _fine_ , thank you very much,” Lance says, plucking his other ear bud out and putting them away after pausing his music.

“Well, sorry for worrying,” Keith mumbles before throwing his backpack onto his bed and climbing on top of it. Lance barely hears the words, but it makes his vision go red and his stomach twist itself into knots in the span on a second.

“I didn’t ask you to worry,” Lance spits, unable to keep the venom out of his voice. _He hates this_. “Why don’t you just go back to ignoring me?” _He hates this_. “It’s not like you fucking care about whatever the hell I do anyways.”

_He hates this_. His backpack is already zipped up, everything thrown inside it haphazardly as he spoke, as his vision blurred with tears, as his voice shook with rage and insecurity.

“I don’t fucking get you!” Keith yells, shocking him slightly out of his little reverie. He doesn’t jump out of his bed, but he looks like he’s three second away from doing so; his hands are fists on either side of him, his eyebrows are knit together, and he has a snarl that, on an animal, would be the expression it makes before it goes for the kill. “I already told you I fucking cared. I don’t know what the hell is going on in your head, but I’m _worried_ for you, and it’s like you don’t even hear a word I say, or see it when I’m trying to be nice to you, and you go off and run away and ignore everyone anyways, even when you have people that want to _help you_ -!”

“ _I don’t need your help_. I don’t need anybody’s help. I can take care of myself and whatever’s going on in my head is none of _your_ fucking business!” Lance says, avoiding Keith’s gaze. He grabs his stuff and throws it on his back. “You’re not my mom, so just leave me the hell alone.”

He leaves before Keith can say anything more.

Last time, when he left like this, he was _furious_. Now, he’s just tired and hurt.

He’s halfway to the library on the other side of campus when Keith’s voice starts playing over and over again in his head, and the more he hears it, the more he knows Keith is right. He really is running away. He runs and he runs and he runs and he leaves no room for error and it makes him run more. He leaves no room for error. He sharp-shoots his way through most things. He breezes by, he aces it, he _knows_ his stuff like he knows Hunk’s third favorite flavor of ice cream. But when there is error, when he messes up or is thrown for a loop and left to figure things out by himself, he self-destructs.

He knows this. _He hates this_. He knows this like he knows the rational way out. He knows he should ask for help, he knows he should take a deep breath and start again, or look up a tutorial on the internet, or find his way to his professor’s office. _He knows this and he hates this because he_ doesn’t. He chooses this every time, always. He chooses this, he chose this, he knows his choice and he’s hurting himself but he’s also hurting everyone else.

_He’s hurting everyone_. Keith was right. _He’s hurting Keith, too_.

He gets to the library, scans in, and wanders his way to the basement, his favorite spot.

Everyone’s worried about him. Hunk just wants him to be okay, Pidge knows his issues and knows ways to help, and _Keith_. He’s his roommate, he knows how bad he is first-hand and he doesn’t even know the worst of it, and he wants to help in any way he can, but there Lance is, pushing him away, pushing everyone away.

_He hates this_.

Lance struggles through his homework. He’s numb. He makes himself feel nothing. Wrong answers after truly trying the way he knows how to solve it doesn’t make him angry, it makes him waste his other tries and keep going. He gets it done. He doesn’t get it, but he gets through it by trying the best he can, even when angry, hot tears blur his vision and his breathing gets so irregular that he has to gasp for a smidge of air. And when he’s done, and he notices it’s around dinner time, he stays put.

And when he gets back to the room at around three in the morning, Keith is nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor lance, im sorry love, i really do love you.   
> please take care of yourselves guys and please know that everything will be okay in the end  
> -HB


	3. Toolboxes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i recently found out theres pan dulce every friday on campus and i am livin the dream. also i got some words of wisdom. and thus, here we are. this would have been sooner if my laptop didn't goof up and delete half the chapter

“Hey, Keith.”

“What?”

“Wanna go get _pan dulce_ in a couple minutes?” Lance asks, looking away from his phone in his hands to look up at his roommate perched on his bed. He can barely see the expression on his face, but when he talks, there’s that frown.

“What’s that?”

“ _You don’t know what-_?!” Lance screeches, exasperatedly, springing up from the floor and pointing at a confused-looking Keith. “Fine. That’s it. You don’t have a choice.”

“Lance, what are you talking about?”

“You’re _coming_ with me to get some _pan dulce_ , and then you’re going to thank me for changing your life altogether,” Lance says, finding his shoes and pulling them on. “No if’s, ands, or but’s about it.”

“But what _is_ it?” Keith asks, rolling his eyes and sliding off his bed.

“Dude, it literally translates to ‘sweet bread,’ are you serious?” Lance says, levelling him a glare as Keith rolls his eyes at him.

“ _Sorry_ I don’t know Spanish,” he replies, shoving keys in one pocket and his phone in the other.

“It’s okay, I’ll forgive you after this.” Lance throws the door to their room open magnificently, bowing slightly as Keith slips out. “You’ll be a changed man, an enlightened man-”

“I doubt something named ‘sweet bread’ would be that good,” Keith deadpans. “Bread is the last thing I would want to make sweet.”

“First off, you’re wrong. _So_ wrong that you’ll beg for forgiveness in about, say,” Lance checks the time on his phone, “ten minutes. Second off, there’s all sorts of different kinds, so you can try them all and see for yourself.”

Keith didn’t even try to argue, and Lance preened in his inevitable win. He prattled on and on as they walked to the Plaza. It wasn’t too far away, not really, even when the rest of the student body groaned about it. It was nice, and it definitely wasn’t too long. Lance told Keith about all the times where visits to his _abuelita’s_ house would result in a trip to the panadería. Keith didn’t say much but that was fine.

It was only when they neared the line for the _pan dulce_ that Lance realized that this was one of the first things they were doing together outside of their room. It was almost enough to pull Lance up short, but he shook his head, let out an excited holler, and bounced on the balls of his feet as they waited in line.

When they got to the front, Lance let himself bask in the glory that was a whole tabletop covered in the beautiful, wonderful, amazing different shapes, sizes, and colors that came with _pan dulce_. His grin nearly split his face in two when he saw Keith gaping at the assortment.

“Pick your poison,” Lance said melodically, nudging Keith in the arm with his elbow, but his roommate just kept on staring. He let him stare for a couple more moments, loving the way his mind was slowly blowing up behind his eyes, before plucking two _conchas_ from the mix, placing them on a napkin, and then pulling Keith away from the assortment.

“What the-?”

“You were holding up the line, man,” Lance says, taking one _concha_ and handing Keith the other. “Here.”

“T-Thanks…” Keith said, almost shakily, taking the pastry in his hand and looking at it curiously. “It’s… pretty.”

“Wouldn’t be Spanish if it wasn’t,” Lance says, taking a huge bite and letting out an exaggerated moan at the taste. If he said the small laugh Keith gave him because of it didn’t make his face burn, he would be lying. “I mean, they aren’t as good as the ones from home, but. They’ll do. _Eat_!”

Keith scrunched his nose up at him before looking back at his _concha_ and taking a tentative bite. His eyes blew wide the moment his teeth sunk in, and Lance has to hold in his laughter when Keith chewed thoughtfully as a smile tugged at his lips.

“Okay, I’ll admit,” Keith says, unwillingly looking at Lance. “They are pretty good.”

“ _Ha_!” Lance shouts, dancing a little as they walk back to their dorm.

It’s almost absolutely silent as they waltz back, too preoccupied with munching on their _conchas_ to bicker or do anything else. Lance is kind of baffled by the fact that Keith didn’t put up much more of a fight to go. Not that he gave him that option anyways, but he could have opposed and that should have been enough to start a wildfire. He rolls his eyes at himself for even thinking about it, because Keith is just an enigma, really. An enigma he has to live with, but an enigma nonetheless.

“Hey, don’t you have a math midterm tonight?” Keith asks, unlocking the door, swinging it open, before slipping inside. Lance groans as he trudges in behind him and shuts the door melodramatically.

“ _Keith_ …” he draws out his name as he staggers a couple of steps forward before buckling his knees and falling slowly forward to collapse onto the floor.

“It’s really not that dramatic-”

“Why’d you have to remind me!” Lance whines, his face smushed to the carpeted floors. “And yes it is…” he mutters, almost as an afterthought, pouting.

“You’re acting like it’s torture or something-”

“ _It is_!”

“-but it’s not as bad as you think it’ll be. And I’m sure you’ll do great.”

What? Where is this coming from? Something uncomfortable bubbles low in Lance’s gut, something that is an unpleasant mix of nervousness, anger, confusion, and… _affection_? It didn’t matter because Keith was telling him it was going to be okay and it just wasn’t alright? Keith didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Yeah, all this from the engineer, the one who practically has the quadratic equation _flowing_ through his veins,” Lance grumbles, sitting up and shifting so that he was sitting with his back propped up against the dressed that was underneath his bed.

“Just because I’m good at math doesn’t mean you’re bad at it,” Keith says, almost off-handedly. There’s a moment where Lance glares at him and Keith pauses, almost on the verge of saying something else, before he considers it for a second. “Do you want me to help you?”

“ _What_.” Lance hisses, the word leaving his mouth before he can check it.

“I was just thinking, you know, you always get really weird when you’re doing math or chemistry and I just-”

“Just because I’m not the best at them doesn’t mean you can help me,” Lance says, flying to his feet before he can really process what he’s doing. He grabs his backpack and starts shoving all his things in there. “And, besides, I bet you know next-to-nothing about chem, so it wouldn’t even-” he’s saying this as he looks over his shoulder, trying to glare at Keith directly, when he finds he wasn’t where he was before. _Where did he go_ -?

“You do this a lot, you know,” Keith says, and when Lance turns towards his voice, he finds him leaning against the door, blocking it. “The moment chemistry or math gets brought up, you freak out, blow up, and leave.”

Lance doesn’t want to hear this, doesn’t want to have this conversation, not with _Keith_. He wants to leave, wants to blank out while walking to the library, wants to lose himself in the smell of old books. He wants to leave, and Keith is blocking the door. Th window is open, he could- _no, he is not jumping out of the window_.

“You always look like you’re about to cry when you work on your homework. It’s… you’re not _yourself_ ,” Keith says slowly, and its only then that Lance realizes how much time has passed without a word between them.

“You don’t know _anything_ about who I am,” he immediately spits, looking away from him, flinching at the amount of venom in his voice. He can practically feel it in the air when Keith snaps.

“But I know what you _aren’t_ , Lance, and you’re not a quitter! You’re not a bubbleheaded idiot, you’re not someone to give up, you’re not someone who _cries_ while trying to do homework, and you’re definitely not _you_ when you’re studying!” Keith says all his as he presses forward, advancing so that Lance can’t move an inch away from where he’s leaning against the frame of his bed without touching him. “So _spill_.”

He’s not getting out of this. The words bubble at his chest, fighting to get out, and its only now that he realizes that they’ve been fighting to get out of his lips the whole time. He doesn’t look at Keith, only stares at their shoes and how their laces are tied.

“When I’m angry, I cry,” Lance says, “and when I do chem or math, I get angry at _myself_. Because I’m not the best at science-y things and math and whatever and I know this, but I keep going to lecture and try my best but… I’m trying so hard and I’m not getting better, none of it is sticking, I’m not learning when I _should_ , and… And I know there’s help. There’s tutoring and office hours and I can ask questions and ask for help… but I don’t and that makes it _worse_ because I know I need help so me failing is all _my fault_ all because I can’t _fucking ask_ -”

There’s tears pricking at his eyes at the sound of all the thoughts swarming his head resounding in his ears. He’s closed his eyes and denied them from falling a long time ago. He doesn’t see it, only feels it, when Keith surges forward and wraps his arms around him.

The embrace catches him off-guard, makes his breath come unevenly, makes his eyes fly open, and all he can see is the other side of the room and Keith’s shoulder. He doesn’t know what to think, what to _do_ , but he feels the stray tears run down his face and a hiccuping sob rip past his throat. He unconsciously dips his head, pressing his forehead to Keith’s shoulder, and lets himself _be_.

“You shouldn’t be pissed at yourself for using your toolbox,” Keith says, as soft as he’s ever heard him, before moving away from the hug to lean against his bedframe next to him. Lance is about to ask what he’s talking about before Keith looks over at his confused expression and _smiles_. If that doesn’t shut him up he doesn’t know what would, because the sadness in the slight upturn of his lips makes his head spin and makes him question everything.

“I’m guessing that you used to do everything on your own.” Lance doesn’t have the chance to nod. “It became something like a normal for you, relying on yourself. And you turned to music and separating yourself to get through things if you didn’t get it at first. So music and being alone and struggling on your own was a part of your toolbox. You used all those things to help you get through. And there’s nothing wrong with that, but that doesn’t mean you can’t add to your toolbox too. You can add things like professors or tutors or… friends, and that doesn’t make you weak, or stupid, or helpless. And that definitely won’t make anyone think of you differently.”

Lance tries to keep up with the words, but it feels like he’s out in deep water, the waves keep coming in, and he’s trying to stay afloat but they keep crashing and he keeps trying to break the surface. _Toolbox…. He has a toolbox_ …

“Where… What… How did you… know about all that… toolbox stuff…” Lance says, struggles to say, and he thanks any god listening that he managed to not butcher the question more than he would have.

“I had problems when I was a kid,” Keith says after a second’s hesitation. “I went to this shrink and she told me… well, she told me all of that. And I hated it, but I knew she was right. I thought maybe you would want to hear the same thing.”

“I… yeah, that…” There are no words in Lance’s head for this. His world was fractured into pieces and is trying furiously to put itself back together. Everything looks the same, but there’s a light that shines _everywhere_ and it’s blinding. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Keith said, pushing himself off of his bed and mockingly punching his shoulder, “for telling me.” He says the last part softly, the smile back on his lips, but now it’s shining with the same light that’s illuminating everything, as he walks to his own desk and plops into his chair.

There’s silence for a while. Lance sinks back onto the floor, legs splayed out in between the space between their beds. Keith starts typing on his computer furiously, almost like he’s writing an essay that’ll be lost forever if he doesn’t write every word right this minute.

“Hey, Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you wanna help me with my homework when you’re not busy?”

The typing stops, Keith turns slowly in his chair to face him, and the look he gets makes him smile back.

“Just as long as you pay me in sweet bread, sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank for reading!! please tell me what you think!  
> Please stay safe and warm and know that everything will turn out okay and that someone loves you (its me, i love you)  
> -HB

**Author's Note:**

> i might continue this, I'm not sure.  
> Also chile verde is green chile and its quite possibly the best thing in the world.  
> Thanks for reading, I love you, and please take care of yourself!  
> -HB


End file.
